


Joy Left Burning in Our Wake

by Creya



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creya/pseuds/Creya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monty was easily the best suited for Clarke's secret. She saw the emptiness behind his eyes on the journey down the mountain. She recognized that his torment was enough to understand hers. He didn't question her as she quickly laid out her intentions for flight. As others filtered into camp, he lingered, not wanting to accept that there was no one inside waiting to welcome him. "I trust you'll come alone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Doubt gnawed at Monty as he drew closer to his destination. The smell of water was acrid in his lungs. It all wasn’t that long ago. Not so long ago that his brain had been able to repress or distance himself from the memory. Not so long ago when everything was so full of promise and shattered spectacularly.

He wouldn't have come on his own volition. Nearly didn't at all. If it weren't for her, he’d never relive the day when everything changed. When everything began its descent into chaos. A plummeting spiral now full circle. All of which brought him here.

It was here that he stood, forced to leave his best friend to die. Now he must say goodbye to another.

Midday sunlight filtered through the forest canopy. The last vestiges of autumn didn't diminish the heat of the sun even in tree cover. Clarke replayed the conversation in her head. She was sure that she specified noon in one week and if not, every following third day as a contingency. Monty was uninjured and more than smart enough to make the trek unnoticed and intact.

Her remaining food stores would be able to make it five and a half more days before she would need to venture out further. All the edible flora had been collected and was in various states of preservation or drying. The absence of all urgency had even allowed her to notice a few new species she recognized from her time with the Grounders. At least she would be able to survive the winter without succumbing to scurvy at this rate. But it didn't take away from the fact she would still need help.

Monty was easily the best suited for her secret. She saw the emptiness behind his eyes on the journey down the mountain. His part in the death of hundreds would haunt him and Jasper’s resentment was salt in the wound. She recognized that his torment was enough to understand hers. He didn't question her as she quickly laid out her intentions. The others had gone ahead, filtering into camp. He lingered, not wanting to accept that there was no one inside waiting to welcome him. Especially now.

“I trust you’ll come alone,” she had whispered as she pulled him into a hug. He nodded briefly shrugging further into his sweater in an attempt to collapse in on himself. She could see that he might need the solace of the journey as much as she would need her exile.

After making another cursory estimation of the time, she turned away from the shoreline and towards the bunker. The crunch of weathered pebbles halted her progress and she dropped to a crouch amongst the brush. Monty gingerly side stepped vines coming out to stand on a familiar rocky outcrop. She didn't hear so much as feel him whisper, ‘apogee.’

“Thank you,” she said with no preamble. He jumped like a startled hare and neatly turned, shoving a slapdash shiv in her direction. A modicum of worry dissolved from his face when he saw her. They both knew that some amounts of relief would never find them. She stared up at him from the ground mildly amused.

“I could've hurt you,” he muttered, resigning his weapon to his side. His tone and her raised eyebrow were better informed. “A little warning next time would be nice.”

“This way. We’ll need to hurry if you’re going to have a chance to make it back to camp before dark. Thankfully we’ll already be heading in that direction.”

Monty distractedly marked the surroundings as they made their way south. “I’ve brought what I could. Several containers of beans, protein rations, and some nutritional supplement packs. No one knows what sort of hunting is going to be possible come winter. They’ve got a reasonable garden going in camp too. I snagged a cabbage and a few tuber things. They’re not much to look at but they’re edible.” Clarke continued on a few paces ahead not acknowledging him. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to reassure her or himself.

“There’s a few iodine tablets. Camp has gotten a handle on bulk water purification so they’re only using them for extended scouting missions. They won’t be missed.”

The fallen survivors had made some significant strides while the he and his friends had been locked away in the mountain. Camp buzzed with a silent symphony of purpose that was spiraling away from the uninitiated. _From us._

The remaining members of the 100 were slowly coming to grips with their new reality awash in listlessness. Their camaraderie forged in impetuous freedom and panicked survival was dissipating fast under the watchful eyes of adults. The more seasoned veterans of lockup chafed at the resumption of Ark hierarchy. They had lost so much. Losing their leaders took what little resolve they had left. Now they were losing each other.

“I also managed to get a makeshift compass out of Wick.”

Clarke reacted with a quickness that startled Monty and a few birds close enough to balk at her rage. “Did you tell him anything?!” She came to a stop inches from Monty with a burning in her eyes strong enough to make his face blister.

Smug pleasure at not reacting to her advance bubbled up from recesses he thought dormant. It was also a relief to see something outside impassivity, even if it was fury. “Of course not. I lifted it while he was in Medical visiting Raven.” Her face crumpled at the mention of their battered friend. Clarke composed herself and spun back towards their destination, snapping twigs and thrashing bushes in her wake.

“Good. Thank you.”

“Clarke, I get it. You should get to choose your own penance. No explanations required.” He had chosen to throw himself into productive activities. Days were split between consulting Abby for medicinal needs, working with those tasked to tend their humble crops, and joining the remaining members of Engineering so that he could disappear in a sea of equations and binary. His family hadn’t survived Ark Fall, or at least not that they knew. His only remaining family gave him a wide berth, refusing to acknowledge his existence. The least he could do is honor their memory by putting the tools they gave him to good use.

“You do have to take care of yourself though. Clarke, you can’t live out here alone with your demons and hope to keep your sanity.” She slowed and came to a stop. Her fists were balled so tight that her pale skin had turned completely white. He hoped it meant she knew he was speaking truth.

“We’re here.” She dropped to her knees and uncovered the hatch.

* * *

The Grounder truce with the Mountain had gifted them with one benefit. The specter of beasts in war paint rushing out from the tree line was gone. At least temporarily. Bellamy sat on a felled tree in the gathering dark outside the confines of the fence and didn't worry. He might not have been impervious to the danger but self-concern was no longer on duty. That and he was reasonably sure his reflexes were faster than the figure sitting next to him.

His decoy had followed him outside shrugging off the unwelcoming silence pointed in his direction. Wick did enough speaking for both of them. That and he had brought reinforcements.

“They won’t let us have much more time to ourselves, I don’t think,” the engineer began. He handed Bellamy a metal mug of something approaching rubbing alcohol. It burned his nostrils but didn't smell like it was going to be strong enough. “A few more days and it will be all ‘Back to the Salt Mines’ for us.”

Both Wick and Bellamy had been assigned temporary observation duty over the younger survivors of the Mountain. Bellamy for his familiar face of authority. Wick landed the position out of what could only have been appropriate age and availability. Bellamy found him to be soft and prone to plod through topics better left alone. But he did manage to bring the rare smile out of his friends and that made up for the rest.

Bellamy was ill equipped for sympathy at the moment.

“They’re planning on sending a salvage mission two days from now. I've managed to score a spot. Everything will be a bit outdated but we might be able to coopt most of their hydroponic setup and definitely all the medical supplies. Not to mention the electronics. There’s nothing like demolishing a vile overlord’s tech to bring a smile to my face.”

“And nothing like you being gone to bring one to mine.”

Wick replied grinned against his tin cup, “Don’t even, jackass. I know it will be a burden to carry on without me, but there is only one Kyle Wick. You know you will miss my fantastic self.”

He wasn't completely wrong. It was a bit of a balm to have someone to talk to that didn't see him as one of the various iterations of himself he’d inhabited since landing. Wick never met the would-be assassin, the chaos instigator, or the irresponsible executioner. He probably wouldn't have cared either way.

Bellamy didn't have to be anything but present.

“Besides, who else is going to both enable and monitor your budding alcoholism?” Bellamy idly wondered if he would even balk at the knowledge that he had once been the object of Raven’s poor decision-making. All things considered, Wick was just so damn well adjusted. _And he calls me the jackass._

“Some others, they uh…” Bellamy cut his eyes at him. His face was scrunched up with his mug held halfway to his mouth. “They want to evaluate whether we should relocate to the mountain.”

“You must be joking.” The ire must have leaked into his voice. Because the response was vehement.

“Them! Them, not me. Not my idea.” Wick busied himself with the thermos wisely anticipating that the direction of this conversation might need a little more liquor to make it palatable. “On some cosmically unfunny level they do have a point. It’s sustained larger numbers than ours for nearly a century and we’re all familiar with its defensible position. We don’t even have to worry about the upkeep of the radiation seals.”

“How can they even think of moving anyone there? We’re barely sustaining some of the survivors with all the mood stabilizing concoctions we can make. Haven’t they suffered enough?” Bellamy could see fractures in the faces of his friends. He watched it spider through forced interactions and perpetuate an inability to adjust. Things were tumbling towards an unknown he didn't want to acknowledge.  

“I’d like to see them suggest this to anyone who was there.”

“Well, that’s half of the problem. Some of those championing the idea _were_ there.”

Bellamy slammed the last of his drink back trying to force the rising bile down with it. The outcome was little than stellar. Before he realized it he launched the metal mug into the darkness. It was accompanied with a satisfying chime of metal glancing off something hard.

He pulled a ragged breath into his lungs and attempted keep things in check. “You know what? The answer is no. My people spent months in there and some didn't get to be saved. They’ll never leave that mountain and they want to bring the rest back? They were abandoned and then tortured. And now they want to install them in the very place where they watched each other die. We didn't rescue them for this.”

Wick just stared, open mouthed. Only when he was reasonably sure that Bellamy wasn't going to leap up to do someone bodily harm, he pointed towards camp. “I happened to like that mug.”

“It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.” Splinters were piercing his palms as he physically restrained himself from marching on the council in the middle of the night. “What we did...how could they even…” He scrubbed at his face trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Do you think we’ll be able to find it? You winged something out there good. Thing’s probably bounced into a tree.”

“If we left for the mountain, she’ll...” Bellamy’s words died heavily in his throat. The thought was more than he could entertain. The whispers of the forest filled the silence for him.

After a long moment a strong arm clapped him on the shoulder briefly. “I know man. I know.” Somehow Bellamy was sure he did.

_She’ll never come back._

* * *

Clarke quickly made for the ladder. Her movements drew Monty’s gaze to the ground. A few feet away was a mound of fresh earth. Its size didn't leave the purpose up to the imagination. “Is that the Grounder that…” She hadn't bothered to wait for him. Her clipped affirmative drifted up the shaft from inside.

The fabled bunker was reasonably appointed. She had made quick work of amassing supplies for the winter. Hopefully what he brought would help her all the more. Clarke brushed away odds and ends from the table to make room for the reinforcements.

Monty set the pilfered supplies down, cataloging his spoils. “I grabbed a large store of vinegar and salt. I suggest you pickle those taproots first.” He gestured to the bushel of carrot-like plants by his feet. “Some supplemental protein. Try the jerky. It’s not nearly as bad as it looks. A few odds and ends for first aid. The alcohol is strictly non-consumable,” he shrugged modestly. “I wasn't going to make off with distillery reserves unnoticed.”

He could see Clarke mentally calculating her rationing as she sifted through his pack, nodding with each new entry. Her hands slowed and a frown formed creasing her forehead along with it. Monty was prepared for this and braced himself for the onslaught.

“I don’t want this.” She was shoving the makeshift radio back into his hands. He took a step back deftly avoiding her. Exhaling slowly, she looked up at him. “Thank you, but no.”

“Clarke, it’s sensible. We both know it. Your math is as good as mine. This isn't enough to last you to spring. The walkie doesn't need to be used, but if there is ever a need, it’s there. I’m not going to leave knowing that you’re out here with no emergency strategy. You would let me do it if it was me out here.” She looked like she was in pain and her limbs were going to snap under the strain. He continued anyway. “You don’t have to like this. But it’s happening anyway.”

He walked around the table and gently brace her shoulders. “I’m coming back. You don’t have to be here when I do. Two week intervals at midday, weather permitting. Just stay safe.” Her stony resolve crumbled, heading sagging to her chest in a nod.

“Alright.”

* * *

With the moonshine gone and the chilling air, both men mentally collected themselves, preparing to head back to camp. It was a respectful silence that Bellamy relished. He felt it was getting harder to attain any respite within the camp walls. But this was enough for today. He squared his shoulders, readying for whichever persona would be needed. Duty weighed heavier when borne alone.

A shuffling in the brush several meters away brought them off their perch. Bellamy dropped to a crouch trying to identify the sound while Wick tossed about unsure of the appropriate reaction. “Get down, idiot,” Bellamy muttered, grabbing the engineer’s elbow.

“Wait. Dude, it’s just Monty.” Wick looked down at him. “If you don’t let go of my arm, I’m not helping you explain our new relationship to Raven.”

Bellamy spotted Monty a second later as he entered the meager glow from the camp. “Where the hell has he been?”

Wick shrugged his response. Monty had made it back into camp and the watchman opened the gates with little comment. “Plants maybe? That or he doesn't have a nice enough friend to provide liquid refreshments for his nighttime brooding.”

Bellamy wasn't so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a better summary for this. I feel like it needs one. As any term paper has ever told me, I suck at summation. Egads, save me from myself.


	2. Chapter 2

 

> Clarke -
> 
> Please remember to hand crank the walkie regularly so it holds a charge. Not taking unnecessary risks with your safety would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> The local tribe of Grounders seems to have dispersed. Lincoln thinks Indra’s people would likely have gone north or possibly to the coast. He said there’s nothing left for them here. But that doesn’t mean we can relax.
> 
> I’ve left a few packages of dried berries. Some people find them really bitter, but they’re really nutritious. Please write back even if it is only to tell me you like them.
> 
> We’re all safe.
> 
> \- Monty

Nights were the hardest. Clarke knew that self-diagnosis was not the healthiest of practices. The symptoms of a near debilitating insomnia screamed too loud to be ignored. She let it do the screaming for her.

In the light, she had activities to busy her hands and head. There were snares to check, herbs to dry, water to boil. Even when it was damp, she could venture out to catalog the forest around her. Plant diagrams with lists of useful properties filled every blank scrap of paper she could find.

With the sounds of the forest life continuing on around her, content without her participation, she found peace.

At night the silence was infinite and she couldn’t break it. There was no room for regret as it stretched around her, only anguish. In the weakest of moments she would lean out of her cot grasping for the walkie. Monty’s letters sat unread underneath. His words on the page appeared to her as nonsensical designs with no purpose. Her eyes were no more able than her mind to open that door.

The bonds to her people may have burned Clarke down like a fuse but the ashes were still there. It just wasn’t enough to save her in the darkness.

> Clarke -
> 
> Snow! It is officially my favorite thing.
> 
> A small band of nomads arrived last week. They usually keep to the west of the mountains but traveled here to meet the clan who drove out the ‘Warring Tribes.’ Seems there are other peoples out there that aren’t Grounders.
> 
> They’re shepherds and have brought us a few animals as gifts. We have sheep now and they’re teaching us to card and spin. Harper has somehow managed to take on goat husbandry as if it’s pinnacle of importance. It’s only the one goat. There’s some goat cheese in the pouch packed with snow.
> 
> Everyone is safe. Warm too.
> 
> \- Monty

The days passed with numbing regularity. It’s was a mild winter but she wasn’t prepared for long periods outside. She was no stranger to solitude and confinement.

A small clutch of books and colored chalk become her bosom companions. In short order the walls of the bunker began to resemble those of her Skybox cell. A view of camp from the Dropship door faded into an empty Mount Weather dining hall. The wide expanse of the landscape as seen from the top of Philpott dam stretched the entirety of one wall.

Time begins to release the panicked fist that clenches her chest. Breathing is deeper and sleep is easier.

Eventually, Clarke begins to leave her diagrams for Monty. Only the completed entries to start. The first is Chamomile with a short list of uses and an approximate location of a field containing a large clutch of plants. Lavender follows. Later it is drawings of Valerian and St. John’s Wort with the unknown taxonomy left blank. Answers were left and she hoped he understood the message. If she needed these remedies others likely did too.

> Clarke -
> 
> We’ve started construction on outbuildings. Father down slope towards the creek. I don’t think anyone is quite ready to use them full-time. We haven’t had any problems but most are still wary. The majority of the Fallen have no interest in leaving the compound. The rest of us can’t being cooped up.
> 
> Anyone who is able, volunteers for any scouting or hunting party they can manage. (They venture mostly to the southwest along the ridgeline, just an FYI) The rest are recuperating nicely. That includes your mother. Raven is already back with us in Engineering under the watchful eye of Sinclair. His wife has taken a shine to her and insists that he make sure Raven’s not overexerting herself.
> 
> The council has created a permanent seat for a new representative. Just for us, the 100. It seems odd to still call us that now. But we embrace it. If only in memoriam.  
>  I don’t need to tell you who they offered it to, that’s obvious.
> 
> \- Monty
> 
> PS He’s safe.

* * *

Their world inside camp slowed in the dimming light of the shorter days. Some reveled in the novelty of seasons but Bellamy found the inactivity claustrophobic. His time on the ground had rewired him for activity and vigilance. He took every opportunity offered to him to flee the electrified fence, if only to clear his head.

Today, he found himself on an extended cartography mission with Octavia and Lincoln punctuated by intermittent hunting. It was slow work but he was glad to surround himself with the taciturn Grounder and his sister. One gave him a wide berth while he was usually immune to the demanding presence of the other.

The latter had just elbowed him in the head causing his hammock to sway wildly. “Don’t pretend like you’re asleep in there. I know you aren’t,” Octavia called over her shoulder as she took a seat at the fire.

“No thanks to you, you mean. I have to get as much sleep while you’re awake, what with your rocket engine snoring.” The crust of bread that she had been worrying was adroitly bounced off his forehead.

“That was the bobcat! You’re such a jerk.” One of the highlights of the trip had been being awoken to Lincoln fending off a territorial bobcat in the middle of the night. It was relatively harmless aside from the fact that it made ungodly noises at close range.

“So are you going to talk about it or am I going to have to hit you with something larger?”

Bellamy sighed and began the process of extricating himself from his perch. He had placed complete faith in the ‘ignore and deflect’ method of avoiding serious conversations on this trip. Octavia obviously didn’t espouse such confidence. There would be a Blake-on-Blake violence if it came to it.

It was evening and not quite full dark. He could see her eyeing him across the fire pit bouncing a reasonably sized rock in one hand. Lincoln wouldn’t be of any help as he was presumably off restoring their water reserves from the river they had been mapping.

“Are you going to take the position?” she asked in a gentler tone, offering him a some jerky as a peace offering. He made sure to check her with his shoulder as he sat down beside her. At least she had dropped the rock. “My big brother, a councilman.”

He shut his eyes against the heat of the fire, lamenting her directness. The colors of the burning embers danced behind his eyelids in stark contrast to the cold, hollow feeling this conversation gave him. “I haven’t decided,” he said barely above the crackling.

“They already accepted you as our de facto leader. Might as well make it official,” she said slowly. Her words were purposefully devoid of opinion in an attempt to draw him out.

“Too many of us don’t want to continue within the old system for me to throw my approval behind it. There is a lot to consider.” On some level he hoped that the longer he delayed the decision the more likely he wouldn’t have to make it. This shouldn’t have been his decision to make.

Where are you? Like most prayers, this one went unanswered no matter how many times he begged.

“Since when have you had trouble making up your mind?” Octavia scoffed next to him.

“I’ve never been alone in making it. Not like this.”

She whirled on him eyes shining a furious amber in the firelight. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You don’t need her to be able to lead us. Just you. Think any different and you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.” He knew she meant to be supportive but he wasn’t sure there was anything left in him to support.

“O,” he warned in a low growl. She turned back and began petulantly tearing apart a dried leaf from the forest floor. The smaller pieces caught on the breeze and fluttered around her in a cloud.

“I know that’s why you’re out here,” she said quietly. “With us. You have as much interest in map making as I do, and that’s none. But being out here? Means you might be one step closer to her.” Octavia furiously wiped at her eyes more angry at the rebellious tears than the sentiment behind them. When she was younger she had always done his crying for him. Vicariously voicing his own worry and suffering in his place. “You’re silently hoping that over the next crest you’ll find Clarke standing there, waiting.”

Bellamy convulsed slightly at her name. Hearing it aloud was lightning through his veins. A mixture excitement and pain and just as fleeting. “I see you,” she said punctuating each word with a finger to his chest. “Before every turn you come alive again. If only for a second.” She hated it for him and resented Clarke all the more. “You aren’t able to lie to me, Bellamy Blake. You never manage it no matter how many times you try.”

He pressed his thumbs against the bridge of his nose. “There is no point in telling you otherwise is there?”

“Don’t insult me. You’d have to be blind and stupid not to see it. Just promise me...promise you won’t let it pull you under.”

“I won’t,” he replied as he draped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

They both knew it was a lie.


	3. Chapter 3

Bellamy stalked the passage outside of Medical hoping to get what he needed while still dodging Abby. He was in no mood for a late night battle of wills. With each passing day he found it more and more apparent that Ark society didn’t translate to the ground. He watched as the Council remained content to proceed in a structure founded on rationing and classist strife. All attempts to separate need for security and a continued military state were flagging. It was the Chancellor who sat impassively avoiding change as if she were set in stasis. Evidence or experience did not alter the retrograde tack.

Avoidance was his only means of dealing with her now. They had lost what little ability they had had to interact with each other. Abby saw him only as another figure that had helped forge her daughter in the crucible of this world—forge her into someone she no longer recognized.

Her loss was too plain on both their faces and neither wanted to stare into a mirror of their own grief. Each resenting the other for presuming to suffer more.

He blamed her, whether justified or not. Blamed them all.

Methods necessary on the ground for survival didn’t fit into her personal sense of morality. The actions they had taken— _she_ had taken—were outside Abby’s frame of reference. She hadn’t given her daughter acceptance in hard circumstances when she desperately needed it. Instead she left Clarke to balance on the tipping point for too long and the struggle burrowed a hole in her.

It was possible he blamed himself most of all. Abby had been there. He had not. That difference sat heavily on his shoulders.

He had listened to Clarke’s transgressions on their long journey from the mountain. The injured made progress slow and they had been forced to make camp among the pines. She withdrew from the rest of the group but Bellamy refused to let her leave his sight. He watched her, huddled in the roots of an ancient tree as the sky faded into dusk.

Slowly, words began to tumble from her lips and he wasn’t even sure if she was conscious of it. If they were even meant for his ears. Her hushed tones made him feel like the wooded grove became a confessional. She paused for a shuddering breath, her shoulders heaving. Before he knew he was sitting before her as she divulged her sins.

Nothing has been the same since she closed the Dropship doors. So many lives lost at her hands. All the sacrifices for the alliance were for nothing. How desperately she needed him to be alive after they lost contact.

Bellamy reached for her then, but stopped short. He didn’t trust himself to hold her. It felt unholy for him to touch her now and he lacked confidence in his restraint. Her over-bright eyes refocused on him and she seemed to register his presence for the first time. Ripples of doubt coalesced into abject terror. “I sent you to your death. You could have been killed,” she choked out as she fell into the panic’s sway. Her hands bit into the soil and she shook violently.

He gently prized her fingers from the ground, gathering her hands in front of them. “Clarke, listen to me. You’re hyperventilating.” Her irises were swallowed by blown pupils and ringed white against the darkness. The gasping continued unabated.

“But what if you had died. I can’t... nothing would…it wasn’t worth...”

She was silenced as he pulled her forcefully into his arms. “Clarke. I’m right here. I’m fine.” Her shoulders shook as she sobbed against his shoulder. He cradled her against his chest as the tremors slowed.

“I did it all for nothing,” she whispered into his shirt.

“You managed to save us from slaughter. Then and now.”

“But the decisions I made. You don’t resent them?” Clarke let the issue of the bombing and the lies hang in the air between them. Her body had grown still and rigid under his hands in expectation.

“They weren’t wholly yours. You were led there by the questionable motives of others. Your hand was forced,” he replied, ending the matter and meaning it. He could only imagine the venom she had been fed by the ruthless that left her die. “Sometimes you have to accept decisions like that as a means to an end, if only to save your sanity. Our people are free, Clarke. Make that the measure of your conscience.”

She had fallen asleep in his arms with her head cradled under his chin. He wished there was some way to go back to that day, that he could have somehow eased her pain. That there was something he could have done to make her stay.

He finally let oblivion take him after he pressed his lips to her temple. “You will always be safe here with me.” That was the last time he was able to sleep soundly.

It was getting late. He had no idea if Jackson was even on duty but he had come regardless. Bellamy vaguely knew he was playing with a dangerous mistress every time he requested the sedatives. Mild but habit forming were the exact words used. He did it anyway again and again.

Sleep was cruel and unattainable. It always danced at the edges of his consciousness, plucking at the threads tethering him in place, only to flee with every attempt at capture. Most nights found him catatonic, staring at the ceiling until exhaustion brought him a moments peace before sunrise. Others he spent drugged into a stupor, being brought below the surface like he was a man drowning. It felt near death as his limbs became heavy and his breathing slowed. Each time he felt a surge of panic and tried to fight against the stone pulling him underwater.

It was neither restful nor healthy but it was his truth.

A shuffling movement at the end of the corridor signaled the watch change. There was no point to him waiting any longer or he’d only sleep through the next day. He turned on his heels and resigned himself to a fitful night.

* * *

His feet took him to Monty’s workbench. Some of the herbal remedies he produced for the more traumatized among them worked well enough. A small lantern lit the inside of the tent causing the sheeting to glow green in the dark. An apprentice, a Fallen girl whose name he may never have known, stood at the far end with blunt weapon in hand as she pulverized flowers into a paste. She looked up and gave him a small smile in acknowledgement.

“Monty?” Bellamy asked from the tent flap.

“Not here. Just left actually. Headed to bed, I think.” She cocked her head at him with a furrowed brow. “Can’t sleep?”

He huffed a short laugh. “I take it I’m not the only one to show up like this.”

She replied with a shake of her head. “Happens more than you know.” The girl set aside her tortured plant matter and grabbed a pressure-sealed jar and a square sheet of foil. She rounded on him with an appraising squint, neatly giving him the once-over. “What are you, 5’11"?

“6’ 1” actually,” he replied dubiously. The girl grabbed him and pulled him directly under the light hanging in the rafters. He was taken off guard as she clinically invaded his space plucking at his clothes. “Uh, hi?” Bellamy stammered. She didn’t respond after raising his left arm and letting it fall back to his side. Finished with her review she returned to her bench and placed the bit of foil next to a small scale. “Shouldn’t I have at least gotten your name first?”

She threw him an abashed glance as the jar opened with a dull pop and a cloud of powder. The smell of wildflowers and bitter herbs permeated the small space. She gave a brief salute and smiled. “Meg. Nice to meet you.”

Lost as to what the appropriate response after being violated was, he settled for silence.

“Sorry. Had to assess the right dosage.” Meg worked intricately, measuring powders from various jars on the scale in small bowls before tapping them onto the foil strip. She turned slightly to give him one more calculating glance and grabbed a glass vial of orange seeds. Long forceps extracted two seeds and they were ignominiously dropped into a nearby mortar and ground into oblivion. It all ended in a flourish as she neatly twisted the foil contents into a portable pouch and presented it to him on an outstretched hand. “Ta da,” she said with a victorious smile.

“Thanks.” He gently lifted the foil to examine in the light. “You can make this but you’re still awake?”

Her gratified expression faded a bit. “Oh. I’m a different story. I hit my head during Ark Fall and must of jarred something loose. Didn’t think much of it when I couldn’t sleep right after we got here. Most of us had problems regulating our circadian rhythm at first.” Meg shrugged slightly. “Dr. Griffin says it’s not necessarily harmful. I just march to my own schedule and sleep when I’m tired, no matter what the sun is doing.”

“It doesn’t get lonely?”

“I think you can answer that for yourself,” she replied with a knowing look. “But, it’s fine. There’s usually someone about to keep me company.”

For a moment they both stood staring down at the foil twist in his hand. Meg shook herself slightly and nodded, resolute. “Right. Dissolve this in water--not alcohol. Drink all of it but be prepared because it’s kicks like a bitch. Isn’t much we can do for the taste. Like battery acid and tree bark, that stuff. And make sure not to take it until you’re sitting in bed. No unnecessary head trauma, if it ends up dropping you like a rock.”

He grinned at the notion. “Will do. Anything else?”

“It’s got a short half-life so you shouldn’t be too groggy in the morning. Regular use should help lessen chronic insomnia, too. If it is effective of course.” She pointed over his shoulder to the front corner of the tent. “We keep canisters of distilled water for over there for just such an occasion. Grab one on your way out.”

Dismissed, he made his way out stopping at the glass jars of water. A few sheets of paper caught his eye. They were stacked neatly next to a notepad with furious scrawl cataloging the herb stores. The top sheet was a botany diagram showing a clutch of purple buds at the end of long green stalks. Lilting script in the margins identified the plant as Lavender. He’d recognize it anywhere.

Clarke.

The water jar fell from his hand causing the glass to chime. It rolled off the table with a dull thud and landed at his feet. Meg gave a startled shout at the sound and whirled on him alarmed. He ducked quickly to the ground to collect it and his composure. “Sorry. I’m a little more tired than I thought.” He lifted the jar and shook it in her direction. “Still intact.” Breathe!

“You said Monty had gone to bed?” he asked he as slowly as possible. He couldn’t hear his own voice over the thundering in his ears. Bellamy made his way to the flap and gave the rapidly blinking Meg a slight bow. “Nice to meet you. Thanks again.” And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live on black tea, granola bars, and angst. Hope you dig it.


End file.
